Lydia Martin wasn't always a mean, girly-girl. At eight years old, she wouldn't be caught dead with her hair out of its frizzy ponytail or wearing a dress. Torn jeans, ratty tees, and stained converse shoes was her favorite outfit. She was also the toughest girl in the third grade. Her days were spent hanging with the boys, cheating them out of their lunch money in three card monte, running through the mud, and beating up the older boys in her neighborhood.
No one dared mess with Miss Lydia Martin. Nor did they mess with kids who couldn't help themselves. On more than one occasion Lydia beat up 5th graders who enjoyed picking on younger kids. She was a protector. She stood up for those who couldn't help themselves, and she felt joy in that.
Until she hit puberty, of course. Her parents thought her tomboy look was cute growing up. As soon as she got her period though, her mom took all her jeans, tees, and converse and replaced them with frilly dresses, high heels, and lacy bras.
"No one's going to respect you if you hang out with the boys and cover yourself up. It's time to grow up, Lydia. God gave me a daughter and that's what you're gonna be."
That was the first time Lydia cried since she was three years old. She loved her mom and she did what she wanted because she wanted to please her. She put on the dresses and wore the shoes with her head held high. But her new look did nothing to stop her from protecting the younger kids.
She still punched Jackson Whittemore whenever he attempted to pants the Stilinksi boy. And she kicked Coach Finstock in the nuts when he made fun of Scott McCall for having an asthma attack during gym class. That didn't go over too well with her mom.
"Goddamnit, Lydia. I'm sick of this. Girls don't fight. They stay out of boy's business and look pretty. Why couldn't you be the daughter I always wanted?"
That was the second time Lydia cried. After she completed her suspension, she returned to school and sat back as kids got beat up. It hurt, but she didn't want to hurt her mom either. She remembered little Jeremy Daniels, with his nappy black hair and coke bottle glasses, coming to her with a bloody nose and mud all over his clothes.
"Why didn't you help me, Lyd-ya?"
Her heart broke at the tears falling from his eyes, but she sucked it up. "Girls don't fight and they don't play in the mud."
That night she cried again. Cried for Jeremy. Cried for the girl she used to be.
When Lydia hit her 7th grade year, she had more than her fair share of suitors. But only one of them interested her.
Alex Miller. He was an 8th grader. Not the most popular boy, but he was sweeter than anyone she's ever met. He had scraggly black hair that rested just above his eyes, which were an ice blue that made her heart beat faster than ever. His family was relatively poor, so his clothes weren't always clean or up to par but that didn't matter. He loved to read, and he wasn't always trying to look up her skirt like Jackson was.
She remembered how he kissed her cheek after he walked her to her science class. Gosh she never knew she could blush so much.
Lydia was pretty certain she loved Alex. She even told him so. They snuck off during lunch to the football field, and she spilled her feelings to him. And when he smiled at her, saying he felt the same, she had kissed him. It was sweet and tender. The perfect first kiss. That is, until Coach Finstock walked by and dragged them to the office.
Her mom picked her up and as soon as they got home, she reemed into her. Unlike a normal parent , her mom wasn't mad that her daughter was found kissing a boy. She was mad about who she was kissing.
"Really, Lydia? A Miller? His father is a laborer, and his mom works at a fast food place for christ's sake. Why couldn't you kiss a boy like Jackson Whittemore. Marry rich. That's the only way you're gonna get anywhere."
That night, Lydia called Alex and told him she couldn't see him anymore. That night, she cried again.
Freshman year, she was drawn to another boy. His name was Isaac. Isaac Lahey. He wasn't the brightest boy, nor the most popular. He was very shy, with curly blonde hair and blue eyes that sped her heart up just like Alex's. She knew he was broken, just like she was. He often came to school with bruises. And every time she asked, he would duck his head and say how clumsy he was.
She would smile at him and clutch his hand. Lydia knew it was wrong. She was leading both of them on.
"Ah-L-L-Lydia, I-I was wondering…. W-would y-you like to g-go out with m-me?"
When those words left his mouth, Lydia's heart broke again. She stared into his hopeful eyes and hated herself for the words she was about to say.
"Why would I go out with you?... Come back when your bike has an engine and not a chain."
He ran away from her, but she knew he was crying. How? Because she was too.